


heartbeat like electricity

by thescyfychannel



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage, Choking, Dom Sollux Captor, Dom/sub, Double Penetration, Electricity, Erotic Electrostimulation, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Psionic Bondage, Psionic Sex, Psionic Shibari, Psionics, Quadrant Confusion, Quadrant Vacillation, Rough Oral Sex, Spitroasting, Sub Eridan Ampora, Sub Karkat Vantas, Subspace, Xenobiology, does it count if it's sollux captor, yep that's a tag now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-13 00:36:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15352332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thescyfychannel/pseuds/thescyfychannel
Summary: CA: LISTEN all im sayin is wwhat utter FUCKWWIT decides its a good fuckin idea to challenge a psionic to test their control all ovver his owwn goddamn bodyCA: AN gets their poor seadwweller moirail mixed up in itCC: You, last week, only we're not moirails and if you kelp up t)(e )(ippocriticoral be)(avior, I'm telling Karkat.





	heartbeat like electricity

**Author's Note:**

  * For [auxanges](https://archiveofourown.org/users/auxanges/gifts).



> "three supremely bored and fatally curious trolls are curious how well they can handle one of the former's psionics. the catch? one is a seadweller and the other one is off-spec. make it as kinky or not kinky as you want if you do this i'll give my firstborn cat your ao3 handle as a middle name"

Captor is sprawled out across you like the world's sharpest space heater, and you'd complain a bit more if it wasn't for the fact that the warm weight of your kismesis is a certain kind of soothing.

Sometimes.

Sometimes it means you end up shoving him off of you, and snickering when he lands, tailfin over teakettle, on the floor. Karkat would kick your ass back into line, though, and on account of not wantin' to upset him overmuch, you've decided to behave yourself. For now.

Instead of giving Captor the ass kicking he so  _richly_  deserves, you shift a little more on the couch to accommodate the bony length of him, and Kar gives you the approving kind of stare that makes your fins flutter a little bit. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

You ought to know better, by now, than to call Sol Captor's attention to your seaparts when he's as bored as this. It only ever ends in you being a fucking  _mess_ , and Kar being too amused and delighted and  _involved_  to even help you out against this bastard, like you were pretty fuckin' sure a moirail ought to be doin' for his diamond.

Whatever. You can't much fuss. Much. You're a grownass seadweller with a goddamn post of command, to a ship in your Ancestor's navy. You're doing pretty alright.

(you are also not going to admit that maybe you  _like_  it when the two of them team up to take you apart. there's something about being caught between your pitch and your pale that makes you feel so cherished, so vulnerable, so  _safe_.)

 

Back to the seaparts, and to Sol Captor's infinite fascination with them. You'd let yourself get distracted, and hadn't fended him off in time, and now the fucker's hands are all over your fins. Your world blurs yellow, and sparking, all around the edges. A soft noise escapes you, one that  _immediately_  snaps Sol and Kar to attention. They're predators at heart, the both of them, for all they act like they don't know it.

A flurry of sparks, called up by Sol Captor himself, dance over your skin. You bite down on another moan, your eyes slipping shut. "Good boy," he murmurs, and you bare your fangs, trying for a half-hearted growl. You hate how well this bastard can play you. You  _hate_  him, completely and utterly pitch, loathe him so dearly—

"Hey Sollux," Karkat says, and interrupts the  _incredibly_  romantic train of thought you were having. "How's your control tonight?"

Oh. Oh fuck. This is gonna go places  _real_  fast.

 

* * *

 

For long moments—stretching out infinitely for you, beneath his touch, his attention, with his sparks dancing over your fins—Sollux is quiet. You'd like to joke, maybe about how this is the first time he's ever managed that. About how you can finally hear yourself think, for once.

You can't. He's staring down at you, all the intensity of a psionic's focus, the way his gaze carves right down to your marrow and bares up your soul. You shudder, under him, and he finally, finally, looks up at Karkat. You remember how to breathe.

"Pretty damn good," he says, and his voice is so even you wouldn't even  _imagine_  he'd been fondling your fins just moments previous. "Why?"

He knows why. You all know damn well why, and his asking Kar that stupid question isn't fooling  _anyone_.

It doesn't stop you from tipping your chin up, to look at Karkat, your horns pressing into the sofa in some kind of silent threat that has you feeling maybe a little bad for the upholstery.

Karkat meets Sollux's gaze, steady for steady, calm for calm.

(you'd even believe it, if you couldn't feel his gorgeously off-spec heartbeat jumping up off the standard measuring charts.)

"I'd like to see how well I—we, if Eridan wants in—can handle them.

 

Oh,  _fuck_.

 

* * *

 

Captor's not a patient man. You've learned this both the easy way and the hard way, and the lesson doesn't seem to stick right up until the moment that you have to learn it all over again. You'd gripe more, if it weren't for the fact that he's not a half-bad teacher, and sometimes, he even sorts out how to make the learning  _fun_. 

You're half scared that this is going to be one of those times, and that you are going to  _regret_  it.

 

It dawns on you that someone has asked you a question. You blink, up at the both of them, and see the fond exasperation in Karkat's eyes, the unbridled amusement (edging on mockery, even) in Sollux's. "Well, ED? Do you want in or not?"

"Oh," you say, about as eloquently as bricks falling on a stringed fucking instrument. "Yeah, fuck, uh—a'course, yeah."

To give credit where credit is due: Captor's had his hands on your fins the whole fucking time, and you are doing  _amazingly_  well at this.

 

You're finally released (and trying not to whine about it), as Sollux shifts off the couch, stretching out his spine. You can nearly feel those currents running up and down it, racing along his nervous system. If you weren't still so blissed out on all that attention to your fins, you'd be halfway to sitting, reaching out to touch.

(from the smirk on Captor's face, he very well knows it. bastard.)

"I'll need a little while to get shit together," he tells you both, and Karkat nods—just a little too quick for you to believe he's as cool as he's pretending to be about this shit. Alright. You can work with that.

Captor saunters off into the hive, your hive, and you sit upright. Kar's immediately on guard, his eyes narrowing against you, and chin tipping just the slightest bit down. He's not  _quite_  to presenting his horns in a challenge yet, but you're pretty sure it'll take a loud noise and nothing else to get him there. "Don't you dare," he begins, and cuts promptly off when you haul his very nice glutes into your lap and give him a proper kiss.

 

If you're going to be honest with yourself, which you seldom were, once upon a time, and usually are, in these much better days, the three of you—yourself, especially—are pretty fuckin' touch-starved. All it takes is a hand in your hair, someone leaning against you, to have you melting into a puddle of goo.

Pulling Vantas into your lap and kissing him like it's the last thing keeping you alive?

You can  _already_  feel him reacting for you, and you pull back with a smirk, as he's left breathless and flushed that shining crimson hue. Deeps damn you, he's a pretty little thing when he's all worked up.

(deeps damn if he doesn't say the exact same thing about you.)

"Don't what?" you ask, and he whines, his hands tangling into your hair, thumbs brushing at the bases of your horns. Your purr kicks up with no input from you, and your hands drop to his hips, to stroke over his sides. "There's a love, good lad—"

 

Captor, of course, ruins the tender moment by choosing this time to return. "Aw," he says, smirking at the sight of you two, like you've decided to warm Kar up  _just_  for him. Egoistical prick. "Don't you two look cozy. Mind if I join in?"

You bare your fangs at him—and he flicks his wrist, in a neat little motion that has a prickle of psionics at your throat turning easily into the loop of a collar and a leash. Karkat scrambles back, just in time. Captor  _yanks_  on the leash, his psionics catching all the rest of you up and bringing you down to your knees before him. "I forgot. You don't get a choice on this."

He's not exactly great at playing the villain, as evidenced by the way he glances at you, then Karkat, with a worried little expression. You can practically  _hear_  the stream of his thoughts:  _is this okay? did I do it right?_  and you take it upon yourself to help answer them. Somewhat.

"I'm using 'lettuce' for my safeword."

Your ridiculous choice is worth it, to watch Sollux sulk, and Karkat burst into laughter. Poor kid. Absolutely  _hates_  a salad.

 

* * *

 

It rapidly becomes less worth it when you realize exactly how ruthless a mood Sollux had been in when Karkat had suggested the worst fucking idea in the world anyway.

Before you even have a chance to soothe your pitchmate's hurt pride (and sense of taste), there's another whipcrack of light wrapped around Karkat's throat, and your moirail lands hard on his knees. "Oh no," says Sollux. "I'm not done with either of you, just yet. Let's start off with something simple. How about we get rid of these?"

He snaps his fingers, and your clothes shred apart. It's a trick he'd perfected sweeps ago, and he's always been stupid proud of it, much to your annoyance, much to Karkat's—better to insist it was a pain in the ass than to ever let him know you both thought it was kind of hot.

You snarl at him once more, and his psionics push at you, prying your mouth open and keeping it like that enough that he can push a finger—no, two, three—inside your mouth without you even being able to  _think_  of biting down. A whimper, distorted by his attentions, escapes you, under the heat of Karkat's gaze—staring, he's staring—and the low laughter it pulls out of Sollux, as he cradles the back of your head, thoroughly taking advantage of your mouth.

"You know," he says, pulling back and wiping his hands off on his pants. "It might be fun to leave you like that for a while. You like gags, don't you, Ampora? Maybe I should."

You try for another whine, and he laughs again—between your thighs, you can feel a trail of violet, painting itself over your skin as your body reacts to his bullshit in the worst of ways. He gives another jerk on the "leash", and you shut up, as he turns his attention (and therefore, yours) to Karkat.

 

Your moirail is a little less unencumbered by the pride inherent to all seadwellers. His thighs are already spread a little bit more, and he's looking up at Sollux with that same burning gaze, rapt attention all focused on your pitchmate. It tugs at something in you, fierce.

(you and kar are absolute shit at keeping your quadlines clean. sol, fef, they never seem to mind.)

Sollux crooks two fingers at him, and jerks him up to his feet. You can see the crackle of red-blue power on Kar's skin, making his transition from kneeling to standing as easy and graceful as his usual movements, even if he's bound by power, now.

You think, for a moment, that Sollux will leave him there. That your kismesis will leave your moirail like that. Standing, waiting, wanting.

 

He wouldn't be Sollux Captor if he didn't live to prove you wrong.

 

His psionics spread over Karkat's skin, a thin sheen of power and light. They spread his legs a little further apart, tug his wrists upwards, the leash turning into a rope that leaves his neck and twines around his arms, anchoring him to the ceiling.

All three of you  _know_  that Sollux can bind you, easily, without that kind of visual display. He's in it for the aesthetic, a bad habit that both Kar and Fef insist he picked up from you. Right now, you're not complaining.

Neither is Kar.

 

Crimson red traces down his thighs, and Sollux makes a quietly approving noise in the back of his throat, as he stalks closer towards Karkat, his attention locked onto that already soaked nook. Karkat's head tips back, his eyes close, as he shudders apart. Sometimes you wonder if you could get Kar off with attention alone. Now seems as good a time as any to try.

Sol disagrees, again. Another flick of his fingers has a curl of power, invisible to everything but your fins, licking up Karkat's leg. His whole body arches, bound all nice and pretty for Sollux's pleasure—you don't even pretend it's not for yours as well—when it pushes up into him.

Deeps, you want to see him  _break_.

 

You're so busy watching him, so caught up in the way he moves and wants and whines that you don't even notice Sollux's attention coming back to rest upon you until it's far too late. A hand wraps around your horn and jerks your head back. He hasn't let your mouth close, and it's an embarrassment, unable to speak, unable to maintain even that much control.

"Aw. Want a break, do you?" His tone is mocking, cruel—you know better to respond to that, when he's in this mood. Instead, you look up at him, silent, eyes wide to keep yourself from edging into that hazy-needing state he loves so much.

His temper cracks like the same whip of his psionics, and before your inner equilibrium catches up, he's yanked you, sideways-up, letting the air—his power—catch you before you even begin to fall.

" _Much_  better," he murmurs, running a hand just over your fins. Your body jerks, as much as his bindings will allow, and he laughs again. Beside you, there's another noise, and you turn your head as much as he's given you leeway for.

 

Karkat's been turned to face you, a minor adjustment that you're sure is as much for Sollux's viewing pleasure as your own, an attempt to rattle you something fierce. You'd like to say it's not working, but deeps take you if you lie about this one. Kar's a glorious thing when he's being wrecked, thighs spread apart and bright scarlet across his skin, his head tipped back and hips hitching, rocking down against nothing that you can see.

Only. Only.

You can see, from here, that Sollux has his nook spread out, psionics pushing deep into him, deeper than hands or toys could, perfectly hitting everything guaranteed to make Karkat scream. He's not quite there yet, but you know, you  _know_ , where this road's going to lead, and it leaves you nearly soaked as your palemate.

 

A warm touch slides down your bare skin, and you moan, pressing up to follow it as best as you can. You do your best to brace for this, for him to toy with you until you're on the verge of breaking down. You focus on it, on the minute attention he gives you, the gentle touch that leaves you wanting more.

When he shoves two fingers into your nook with no other warning, you nearly scream around his improvised gag.

It's a shock, a wholly unexpected one, more than it's painful—you'd been ready to accommodate him far before he tried to fingerfuck you—and when he curls his fingers up inside you it's the best kind of raw, the sort that leaves you aching and breathless. In this case, you try to press down, take them as deep as you can—

—and he won't let you.

You look at him, wide-eyed for real now, a soft whimper in the back of your throat. He smirks at you. Beside you, Karkat nearly sobs.

 

A roll of his wrist has your head turned back to look at Karkat, and something—something, approximately a bulge, if it weren't for the static edges of it, pushes into your mouth. Sollux puts pressure on your tongue, down your throat, until you choke around it, nearly sobbing.

There's static around Karkat's bulge as well, teasing and twisting around it as his hips jerk, forward against that, down onto the psionics inside him. He's full, you know the way he looks, the way he gets, when you finally fill him up proper, and you keen, your bulge pushing at your sheath to try and get out.

"Nope," a quiet voice murmurs, just by your fin. Your hips jerk again, at golden-colored breath over your sensitive skin, and you let out another desperate noise, as best as you can, around his power. "You don't get anything without my say so, understood?"

You understand. You understand perfectly well.

You're also going to kill him.

Judging by the way he shoves a third and fourth finger into you, making your eyes roll back into your head,  _he_ understands  _that_  perfectly well too.

 

Psionics spin you over, until you're floating almost face down, bent onto your knees even up in the air. His fingers stay in you the whole time, and the  _twist_  of it is a kind of delicious agony that leaves you breathless. You keen again, rocking forward as much as he decides to allow, and Karkat, his legs no longer forced apart, staggers towards you.

A snap of Sollux's fingers gives Karkat a little more leeway, enough to drop to his knees in front of you. For a wild moment, you wonder if Sollux has decided to be merciful.

Then his psionics yank Karkat's thighs apart again, tipping him backwards to give you the best view of your moirail being fucked raw by some invisible power, and you tighten up around Sollux's fingers so quick you think he might bruise.

You're both going to die, and it's going to be completely Sollux's fault. 

 

* * *

 

At some point, you lose track of things—you think you might have spilled, but you're not sure. The world's blurred over into hazy golden, blue-red at the edges. Sollux might be speaking. You're not sure, until a spark hits your fin in just the right way to jolt you back.

"Wh?" you manage, your accent all the heavier for your...state.

For once, Sollux looks immeasurably patient. It might be a product of the abysmal state your pan is in, though. "Do you mind if I go for your gills or fins?" Oh. Okay. That.

That's going to require some thought.

You scrape your last few pan pieces together, and think—he's done it before, and always been careful enough that you've actually trusted him to clean and patch you up a couple times that Fef couldn't. Then again, he's also got Kar psionically restrained and fucking himself on an invisible pailtoy.

 

A moment passes. Two.

Sollux still seems ready to wait out eternity.

You nod.

 

It's all the permission he was waiting for, because sparks are slipping into your gills, tap dancing all over your pain-pleasure responses in a way that nearly makes you white out. You're vaguely aware of noises that sound streamed straight out of a pailvid. You're less aware that they're definitely coming from you.

Captor hums, pleases, and his fingertips dance overtop your flaring backfin, leaving more sparks in his way.

At some point, he'd eased up the bonds on you, giving you enough room to move in them. You *twist,* writhe under his attention, the way your fin catches up the sparks that your gills don't leaving you aching.

 

Sollux is in front of you. You would care less, if he wasn't blocking your view of Karkat.

"Your choice, ED," he says, reaching up to stroke over your fins. You kick up a purr, immediately, melting into his hands. "Either you let me spark these, or I keep your bulge sheathed until I'm done with you."

There's no question. There's barely even a choice. You look up at him, and those fins flick an assent that you back with your own words—"Spark 'em."

He covers your fins with his hands.

Your bulge spills out of you just as he floods your electrosensors with enough power to finish off the last of your restraint.

 

* * *

 

When you come to, it's to a glorious sight: Karkat, sprawled out, panting, as Sollux strokes through your hair. Your head's in your pitchmate's lap, and your moirail occasionally twitches, jerks, as Sollux stares at him intently.

When he notices you, awake once more, he seems almost startled, and perhaps more than a little pleased. "Good, you're up." You chirp up at him, and he strokes over your hair, absentmindedly flicking his hand again in a way that has Karkat crying out. "What do you think? Should we let KK finish?"

Karkat looks up at you, pleading, like he knows, even in the depths of this bastard's attention, that you're his last hope.

Really, it's a pity that you're not the merciful sort either.

"Break 'im."

 

Psionic shibari is an art form you'd like to study in greater detail someday. According to Sollux, it requires a fuckton more control than he usually has, but is infinitely easier than having to actually tie the ropes, and untie them after.

You'll say this: Karkat looks damn good, bound like that.

It's his turn to be suspended, and he doesn't look the least bit pleased, his calves bound to his thighs, his arms tied behind his back. Judging by the particular tone his whines have taken on, he's feeling pretty fucking empty right about now—you can't say the same. Sollux has decided to test the limits of his control by stuffing you full of both of his bulges, while he works on Karkat—you'd been denied the feeling of them slipping in, him using psionics to stretch your nook out as much as possible, vanishing them the second he'd been seated fully inside of you.

Going from full-not-full to completely full of yellow bulge had pulled a scream out of you, one loud enough to rattle the rafters and snap Karkat back into sensibility of a sort—it'd made him a  _little_  less grumpy about his current position, at least.

Another shudder runs through you, echoed by one running through him, and a pleased little noise from Sollux. Your head tips back onto his shoulder, a silent admission of how fucking  _wasted_  you are, and he rewards you with attention along your jaw, mouth moving over it in kisses and bites.

"How do you think he wants it," Sollux asks, soft against your fin. You know his eyes are on Karkat, because yours are. They haven't left your shuddering matesprit since those bonds were laid over his skin like a second set of tattoos to match the ones he has. "Fast? Slow? Never?"

You contemplate, as your hips roll down to meet the twisting-twining of his bulges, buried deep in your much-abused nook. "Overstimulated," you guess, turning to rub your jaw against his.

Judging by the way his eyes light up, this was definitely the right answer.

 

Psionic power runs over Karkat, little ripples into crashing waves. This time, Sollux leaves the color to it, lets you watch the light display he's decided to put on for both of your pleasures. Karkat's complaints have long ago died down into moans, whimpers, noises of the most delightful kind, and you match him, a counterpoint as deep as the seas themselves.

When Sollux catches your chin, and forces you to look at Karkat, properly, it's the most terrifyingly beautiful thing you've ever seen.

His pleasure crests, like so many of those waves running over his skin, and you lean forward, watching him, wanting more of this, wanting the climax and wanting it never to end, all at once.

Sollux, for once, obliges you in both.

 

He leans forward along with you, blunt fangs over your fins in ways that make you trill and keen. You tumble onto your hands and knees, as he follows, hips to yours, calling all of Karkat's pleasure out of him—

—and you see the moment he  _breaks_.

Crimson slurry spills down his thighs, spatters over your skin, and you cry out, panting, as Sollux's pace increases. Karkat trembles through his high, little jerks of his hips, his breathing shallow and eyes shut. You know what he does not seem to have realized: Sollux is in no fit condition for mercy.

 

Before Karkat can recover, the waves build again. This time, he tries to struggle, at first—his attempts grow weaker, as pleasure builds, overtakes him once again.

And again.

And  _again_.

 

Your hands dig into the rug under you, as Sollux's hands dig into your hips, hard enough to bruise. Karkat's on the floor now, more of your hatemate's power redirected towards keeping attention on him. With every climax, every drop of off-spec red added to the growing stain under Karkat's spread thighs, Sollux releases him a little bit more.

He's free enough now to thrash, each orgasm sending him spiraling into another, halfway to a feral in heat. You nearly purr at the sight of him, this wracked and wrecked with pleasure, and Sollux  _snaps_  forward, fucking you full again.

The movement jolts you enough that your arms give out, knees betray you, and you land, sprawled across Karkat. He  _snarls_.

Before you can even contemplate arguing—before you can put seadweller strength and seventeen sweeps of training and sailing, the eight odd inches you have on him, and all the muscles you've built into use—his hands are around your horns, and his bulge is down your throat.

Sollux does not ease up on the prickle of psionics, around it, even then. Karkat's noises, high trills and sharp chirps, don't go anywhere to disproving your "half-feral in heat" hypothesis, and you'd put up a protest if you could even speak.

Instead, your head spins, as Karkat takes full advantage of your throat, Sollux's eyes flashing behind you—you imagine—as he keeps it up, psionics taunting and teasing and  _shoving_  Karkat over the edge, again and again.

 

He spills down your throat  _twice_  before Sollux lets you pail, a violet spill all across the floor, his thighs and yours, and you black out again.

 

* * *

 

When you come to again, it's in the big bath. You're tucked up between a somewhat sheepish Sollux and a much calmer Karkat. Words are not going to happen; your throat is thoroughly  _fucked_. Instead, you chirp, and  _immediately_  are rewarded with a flurry of attention.

"Hey, ED, you doing ok?" Sollux presses kisses over your horns and hair, soft affection that tilts nearly pale. (so sue you, he needs a lot of care. everyone flips a little sometimes.)

Karkat nuzzles at your fins, leaving you purring again. "Feel free to say no. That is the absolute  _last_  time we indulge that megalomaniac in his  _ridiculous_  power fantasies."

"It was your suggestion!"

You settle down between the two of them, as they argue, lifting one foot, then the next, out of the bathtub, just to judge how long you've been in there by how much they've wrinkled. From what you can tell, they put in one of the  _good_  bathbombs, the kind that makes your gills ease up a little on the dryness.

This is good. This is nice. This is fuckin'  _perfect_.

 

You decide to ruin that, a little.

 

"I don't know," you interject, as one of them opens their mouth to rebut something the other said. "I thought it was kinda hot."

**Author's Note:**

> show me the birth certificate the second the ink's dry


End file.
